


Literal Light in the Metaphorical Darkness

by radiowrittenheart



Category: Penn Zero: Part-Time Hero
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Backstory, Bittersweet, Gen, Illegal Activities, Illegitimacy, Oneshot, here goes nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiowrittenheart/pseuds/radiowrittenheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark and stormy night on the Hi-Line ... and a golden child drifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. days go by

**Author's Note:**

> After a convo with ruff and a question to Sam Levine, this happened - it was an idea on the back burner, anyway. Enjoy.

“Ya sure this is the place, Slick?”

“I know this is it, Ace,”

A triceratops loomed in the bitter cold evening, raindrops piercing the oversized reptilian and it’s passengers. The gold star badges glimmered, while a soft wail broke through the night. Wisps of smoke from the mens’ cigarettes disappeared in the storm, and one slid down the tail of the dino, catching the basket.

“Jus’ can’t believe it. Kid would be better off as an orphan,”

“Do as yer told,”

The younger man, the deputy, shook in his boots. He fumbled for a minute, staring at the basket he held. “I feel sorry for this ‘lil one,” he muttered.

He dashed through the sand, thick from rain, and tried to remain quiet. The infant had finally dozed off, thankfully. The sheriff station of Big Butte was always dead, anyhow. Why they had to come in the middle of the night seemed like overkill.

“Ace! Move yer lard ass!”

Placing the basket a good few inches from the door, the deputy Ace knocked on the door before running.

He grabbed onto the dinosaur’s tail, letting his partner dash them both off into the dark of the night.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

The cell was cold. Of course. It always was. She didn’t have much to cover herself with; just a pathetic blanket that had once been a potato sack, and some paper thin prison clothes. The prison number and name tag mocked her, made her feel helpless.

_ Sunny Carter _ ,  **112.**

Her name was so goddamn ironic. Here she was, trapped in a freezing, dark cell, monitored by a bitter and greasy old woman. The other prisoners slept, but Sunny couldn’t close her eyes. She was too on edge. Too worried. Where had those hooligans taken her baby? For all she knew, they could have thrown her baby girl off a cliff.

Staring at the rainy evening through the barred window of her cell, Sunny felt on the verge of tears.

But she didn’t cry. She never would.

There was the slam of a door, which snapped her out of her trance. A triceratops roaring confirmed her assumptions. The clink of tobacco being spat into a can.

“Where did you take her?”

Black teeth and yellowed skin appeared in the dimly lit hallway. “Where ya said, hon,” he said.

“Don’t call me that,” Sunny snapped, her spit flying through the bars at the sheriff. He was disgusting, revolting, a piece of trash and so many more despicable things.

With a scoff, the sheriff was about to turn on his heel and leave her be. That is, until something glimmered.

Something on her.

“What’s that?” he barked, reaching in and yanking her up against the bars. “Whatcha smuggle in here, boss?”

The nicknames, she could deal with. It was part of being a famous criminal and finally getting busted. But this man-handling, the twisted reminders of back then, and what she had dealt with tonight … she didn’t deserve this. Sunny was a good woman, with a bad history, but no one else could see that.

She shrieked as the pendant was yanked off her neck; the jewelry previously being hidden under her prison garb.

“Pretty little thing,” the sheriff leered. “I’m gonna keep it,”

“No,”

Sunny couldn’t take her eyes off the necklace. She had kept it for so long, and now the pendant meant even more to her … a solidified piece of amber. She could only watch as the sheriff cackled, walking off and leaving the station for the night. And finally, she shed a single tear.

The only memory she had of her baby girl, gone.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

At first, Scaley thought he could sleep through the screeching and crying. Probably another bunch of pterodactyls being hatched, he figured. But those weren’t dinosaur cries, he realized. He crept out of his bed, shuffling through the living quarters and making his way into the actual station. A clap of thunder seemed to jolt him awake, and the screaming only got louder.

Crucified Christ, at this rate, it would wake the dead.

He peered out the window of the door, seeing nothing. Hmm.

Fumbling with the doorknob, he tried to keep the flimsy wooden door at bay - but the wind took control. The town hadn’t seen a storm like this in decades.

And if he hadn’t opened the door sooner? The basket before him might have been gone.

He muttered a few swears as he shuffled and slipped his way across the porch, quite literally letting the door hit him on the way back in. Another scream was loud enough to almost cause Scaley to drop the basket, but what in the hell was going on?

Who was stupid enough to leave a baby in a basket on a night like this?

Of course, this wasn’t uncommon. People gave up children in and out of town all the time.

“Looks like I’m puttin’ up a notice in the morning,” he grumbled.

The basket was placed on top of a rickety table, and he peered in. The baby was clearly a girl - for even as a newborn, she was stunning, and the pink blanket was obviously some sort of implication. Scaley winced at the crying. Usually, children weren’t this young when given up … he was lost. He had no idea what he was doing.

The child was a beautiful one, that was for sure. Little wisps of fiery red hair on her head, skin pale as the moon, but her eyes were screwed shut as she cried.

Scaley awkwardly rocked the basket, and eventually, the baby girl fell quiet.

Then, he froze. Her eyes were green, such a bold green they seemed to tell stories. And they seemed familiar.

“Who do ya belong to?” he muttered, gently picking up the child with one hand and letting her squirm in his grasp. Scaley had always forgotten how fussy little ones could be. This was always the hardest part of children being dropped off.

He rummaged around in the basket, tossing out another blanket and finding a piece of crumpled up paper in the bottom. It was fresh, though. New.

Scaley unfurled the paper against the table, skimming it with tired eyes.

And if the thunderstorm didn’t keep him awake, along with the baby’s crying, this did.

This had to have been some kind of scary, unrealistically real dream.

**_Amber Hope Briggs_**  
**born:** _May 19th, 1995_

 **Mother:** _Sunny Lynn Carter_ / **Father:** _Scaley Lloyd Briggs_

It wasn’t even official. Just scrawled out in some scrappy handwriting, and at the bottom, stamped with the official courthouse symbol of Killer Spell; a place down the Hi-Line. Okay. This was real.

He knew that Sunny had been serving twenty years…

...he could have been the one to turn her in. But didn’t. So a little under a year ago, she had left. And now?

This made all of the sense in the world, but Scaley couldn’t wrap his head around it. Even if he may or may not have wanted to. Most of the nights he had spent with the famous Sunny Carter - the crime boss of the Hi-Line - they were plastered and all he had left was a small token she’d leave for him. He didn’t know her well. Now, here was a newborn girl in his arms, supposedly his own.

No.

Not supposedly.

He had only seen eyes that green in one other place.

The mirror. At his own reflection.

“Amber,” he muttered.

Alright then. Fine. He’d do what he had to. Glancing at the date, Scaley felt cold - and not from the dreadful weather. May 19th. That was yesterday. Only a day ago…

He hadn’t even noticed that her crying spell ended. Now, wrapped up in a blanket, Amber was dozing off in her father’s arms. Father never did apply to Scaley Briggs, but that was just going to have be another name on the very, very long list of titles he had in his life.

This one he couldn’t afford to mess up, though.


	2. but where are the years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The child has grown, and she drifts still.

“You touch me or her an’ I’ll shoot!”

Loud whispers were heard all throughout the trading post, but no one could tear their eyes away from the bold, beautiful vigilante of a young woman. A golden pistol in one hand, and her entire body shaking. The man in front of her had both hands up, mumbling to himself as he backed away, eventually running off.

“Yeah, go on and run!” she yelled. “Coward!” She shot a single bullet to the ground, alarming the crowd and having them whisper amongst themselves.

A huff escaped her, and she hid her pistol back under her jacket.

There was a scoff behind her. “What are ya, kid? Crazy vigilante or somethin’?”

“I don’t like titles. Just call me Amber,”

Once she said her name, it was called from a distance. She looked over her shoulder, seeing her cohorts waiting at the other end of the trading post. Amber sighed, helping the woman on the ground to her feet.

“And you?”

The woman fell silent, staring intently at the younger female - the girl. Still a child. “I’m no one special,”

Amber chuckled. “Well, yer special enough not to get robbed,” she retorted. “I commit lots o’ sin, but stealing ain’t one of ‘em.” She eyed the necklace hanging from the woman’s neck, letting out a soft huh. “Lotta people in these parts seem to fancy those jewels.”

“Yes,” the woman said distantly.

Hearing her name hollered again, Amber groaned, giving the woman a two-finger salute before running off.

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

She had lost the original necklace long ago. The first thing Sunny did when she got out was get a replacement … and almost had it stolen. If not for that girl. She knew those eyes. Those were Scaley’s eyes … and that had to have been Scaley’s girl too.

Their girl. It had been twenty years. But that was her alright.

“Amber,” Sunny choked out.

What was her baby doing now? Shooting guns, riding off into the sunset with men who looked like bandits?

Too much had changed in twenty years.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, comments are appreciated. :)


End file.
